A Violet Dress
by annaisadinosaur
Summary: Fleur wore a violet dress, an odd shade of violet, and Ron couldn't decide if he liked it. But he couldn't help it. She wore the violet dress when she was happy, and she was happy when she was with him.


It was an odd color, that violet she was wearing, Ron decided. A soft, wispy dress that cut straight across her chest and hugged her sides. A peculiar color.

But pleasant. Yes, pleasant could work, too.

She wasn't paying him any attention, just lounging on the sofa without a visible care in the world, book lying in her petite hands and her eyes turned downwards. She'd always loved to read; her face would fall into a sweet, subtle smile that was hard to see at a moment's glance. But he could find it, the happiness etched in her features, if he looked long enough.

It was an odd connection they had, but he'd take moments like this to stand in awe, making sure to count his blessings before she slipped right out of his grasp. She was like air, this girl, always floating about, and sometimes, when he held her close to him and they just basked in the quiet, Ron's heart would leap at the thought that she was his and his alone.

Ron walked over and fell beside her on the sofa, though softly, as to not disturb her from her book. He said nothing, only moved close so that their arms touched and the warmth of their bodies tickled at each other's skin. She made no greeting, either; a small, quick little turn of the corners of her lips was the only indication she was aware of his presence at all.

They were from two opposite worlds, Ron Weasley and Fleur Delacour, and whenever their worlds met, Ron felt nothing but elation. She was fantastic, brilliant, beautiful, breathtaking, and a little bit odd. Like the violet color of her dress. Odd, yes, but pleasant. Odd in the way she spun and danced when she thought no one was looking, odd in the way her eyelashes fluttered when she kissed Ron's nose and purred in that French accent, odd in the way she adored him. Perhaps it wasn't odd at all.

And then she came out of her trance, lowering her book into her lap. She turned and caught Ron's face in her hands, pressing her soft lips onto his, and for a moment he was still with surprise until he remembered she wasn't just a dream. She was real, truly his, a golden, beautiful treasure.

He pulled her towards him, and she giggled between kisses, letting the world of her story fall to the ground with her book.

Ron decided then that maybe he really did like that violet dress of hers.

* * *

She stood in front of him, back turned, platinum blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders. Vaguely, Ron's attention was directed to her dress and its pastel violet color. She wore it often, he noted silently, when she was happy. It reminded her of the pretty flowers outside her home in France, she'd told him once.

But Fleur paid no attention to him, and if she had heard him enter the room, she did not produce any sort of reaction. She leaned onto the counter, elbows resting on the surface, a hip dipped to the side, head bent down.

Ron took another step forward, spotting a piece of parchment before her, and watched as her light eyes darted over the words slowly.

He hardly dared to disturb her, but he knew that he had to for once. He felt an ache in his chest, though briefly, because he knew that something was wrong. The violet of her dress confirmed it, as it was too odd and out of place, rather unpleasant. She was not wearing it because she was happy; she wore it, rather, because she _wanted_ to be.

"Fleur?"

She turned her head, gaze meeting his. Her eyes had grown tired and were red at the rims. Happiness. He needed to remember what that had been like for them…

"Letter from mum," she answered his unpoised question, the French of her accent twisting her words bitterly. Her eyes fell back down, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the parchment.

He nodded, though she wasn't looking to see. Perhaps before he'd have wrapped his arms around her, nestled his chin into her shoulder, trailed kisses down her neck, whispered sweet things in her ear. But now that didn't seem right. Those days had faded, just fleeting dreams in his palms.

And slowly, very slowly, she came out of her trance, letting the letter glide out of her thin fingers and onto the bare countertop. She turned in her spot, arms folded behind her, and locked her gaze with Ron's.

He hardly slept anymore, always lying awake, reaching for a hand in the dark that wasn't there. He'd never ventured to ask, but he wondered if she ever lay awake, too, wishing for him without speaking a word of it. He couldn't find it in her expression, but he found a hint of his own despair in the red of her eyes. She had been his own, only his, in a daydream sometime long ago, until the dreams one night had become nightmares. Over time, the violet of Fleur's dress had faded in the wash. She never bothered restoring the brilliance of its color.

"My things are by the door," she said softly, and for once it seemed as if she was afraid to disturb him from his own thoughts. He hadn't minded. There was never anything special there anyways.

Ron swallowed a sharp gulp of air and wrung his hands together. They gazed at each other with distant eyes, unspoken words falling between them.

He'd always thought that love had found them.

"Mum's taking me in," Fleur said, and it was a whisper. Ron couldn't help but think how unnecessary it was. She spoke as if she might frighten him.

Ron couldn't bear to let her go.

He only nodded, and she waited for his words, but a few moments of silence said all she needed to hear.

She pressed her lips together, trembling slightly, and nodded her head too. She walked away from him, into the living room, to the door, where her things were.

He watched as she walked. He decided then that he hated that color of her dress, that awful violet.

* * *

_Written for the One Hour Challenge, with Ron/Fleur as my pairing, and my prompts Separate Ways by Journey, happy, and violet. _  
_This was a bit odd from my usual style, but I particularly liked the change. These two definitely are an interesting pair. _  
_And, yes, I wrote this in precisely one hour. I've never been much of a speed writer anyways._


End file.
